


Amber & Gold

by Valyanamie



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: A lot of characters mentioned, F/M, Sad Ending, but with hope!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-24 13:05:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18572074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valyanamie/pseuds/Valyanamie
Summary: Aegnor loved a mortal woman- From when he first met her to their parting in The Halls. Aegnor still wanders aimlessly there, watching the Ages pass and fall.





	Amber & Gold

**Author's Note:**

> All characters belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. I take no credit to them.  
> This is a lot longer than I originally wanted it to be, I'm sorry for that. It was suppose to be a short piece but I got carried away :')

 

If he had been given a choice, he would have wandered off far away with her. Run away, from his duties and kinsmen, to dwell in the wilderness and speak only to each other beneath the starlit sky. 

 _You'd grow bored_ , she had said, her fingers dancing through his hair.

 _Then it's a good thing you'd be there,_ he had answered.

She was unforgettable. Aegnor had courted before, countless of maidens in Aman, but their faces he had long forgotten. _Hers_ he would never. Sometimes he would fear that when ages would pass and the years spent together become lost, he would not remember her face, her voice or smile. He would fear it would fade, from his memories and his heart. For he loved her, in a way he had never loved before. 

He had first met her by the Aeluin, during the last spark of evening when dusk was to fall. He had seen her reflection first, where she had been bent over the water. She had been singing, in her own tongue, her voice echoing through the streams and into the starry sky. He did not understand one word, even though Finrod had tried to teach him, but loved her voice nonetheless. Not perfect, she did not sing with flawless notes, but still lovely in the odd way men would- with the slight tremble of emotion.

She noticed him only when he had approached her, startled, but smiled that sweet smile of hers nonetheless. 

"Hello," she had said, brushing a strand of dark hair behind a round ear, "you're Finrod's brother." It wasn't a question, but the tone of her voice he took for an invitation, and sat down beside her on the soft grass. For a moment there was silence, and then night finally fell, and the stars reflected on the surface of the water.

"Sometimes," she said, to no one but herself really- but Aegnor listened either way, "I look into the water and feel the sudden urge to dive in. On a clear night like this one it looks like a portal, a gateway to another world better than ours."

 _That_ had made him curious, "and do you believe," he said, "that there is a world better than ours?"

She had smiled, laughed softly, and lightly shook her head. She hadn't answered his question.

 

 

He fell for her in the strange way they would write of in stories. He remembered his mother reading them to him when he was still a child, tucked away in the safeties of Aman, scoffing at how ridiculous they had sounded. He now felt foolish. It hadn't been a light fall but a slow one; a couple of sleepless nights and countless of dreams with her face, her laughter and her voice. There was a tugging at his heart, an ache to his soul- one he could not answer to.

He had sook counsel from his brother, who had pitied him more than helped:

"You poor soul," Finrod said, sadly, "I _warned_ you. I warned you not to fall for one of them."

And he _had_ , warned him that is. Aegnor remembered the day Bëor had passed, the grief that had consumed Finrod whole. It had taken years for the lord of Nargothrond to heal, and even to the present day there still seemed to be a piece of him missing. A piece his vassal had taken and kept. Many of the Eldar had judged, not understood his fondness of this strange mortal race. Aegnor had been one of those people, and now felt more foolish than ever before.

How could you _not_ fall for them? Aegnor envied those who hadn't.

 

 

"I can't marry you," he had said, although he had wished to do nothing but take her into his arms and name her his own, forever and ever and ever... "It's against our law." He hoped to remain strong, just for these few seconds, hoped that she could not hear the tremble in his voice.

She had nodded, understandingly, but there was sorrow in her amber eyes, "a law that you would not forsake, even for me?"

He had not answered her for she was already gone. 

 

She came to him later that night, with tears streaming down her cheeks. He had pulled her into his arms and there she had wept:

"Forgive me," she had breathed, "that was selfish of me to say."

 

No. It was selfish of _him_ to keep her- to not let her go. It was selfish of him to forsake her, to have her suffer through the short time she had, to live her life in agony, in sorrow and alone. He thought of letting her go, more than once, to let her forget him and have her make a family of her own, little children that would run through stone halls with amber eyes. 

But Aegnor was selfish, and he kept her to himself. It only hurt more. 

 

His death had come swiftly, but the days before it had been long and tiring. He had hoped that Finrod could explain to her _why_ , that his older brother would put his thoughts into words where he could not. Cowardly of him, perhaps, but it took more strength than could be imagined.

He saw her face, if possible, right before the swarm of enemies came tumbling over him. She stood in the distance, in the heart of the battlefield, with grey streaks in her hair and shaking hands- not kissed by youth as she had before, but he recognized her still. He had not forgotten. She had stood there, clothed in white, and wept. He had laughed, caught in the madness, the same madness that had swallowed up his family before. He would not have died any other way.  

 

The Halls were not dark or cold, as most people would say. A stream of golden rays would shine through the high windows, casting light upon the woven tapestries that were draped all over the walls. Things that had already passed and that were happening now. He watched her, the dark hair turning white, soft hands wrinkling and her once straight posture bend. Her eyes remained ever the same, brown in the dark but amber in the sun, drenched with sorrow and grief. He loved her, he did, in a way he had never before and he would never again. A woman had stolen his heart, and a _mortal_ one.

Angrod had met him, taken his hands into his own and kissed each softly.

"I have been given permission to leave," he had said, "so have you. Come with me."

A hopeless question, the answer ever obvious, "I can't."

He never saw Angrod again.

He would rather have the Halls be dark and cold than to be forced to watch the years pass as they did. They passed slower in the halls, and yet quickly, he would do nothing but aimlessly walk around, following wherever she went; until one day she too was gone.

He felt like he was dying again.

He searched for her, past the swarm of other new souls, those who would stay and those who would pass, searching for her face; whether it was old or young. He was crying, he realized, the Halls seemed smaller now, closing upon him, threatening to crush him whole. He had to see her- was he too late?

 

"Why do you weep?" 

He spun around. _Her_ voice, heavy with worry and yet so sweet. She stood before him, young again, in a white garment that all those in the Halls wore. Her dark hair was brushed from her face, so that it was clear and visible for him to admire. Her presence brought forth both sorrow and joy, so startled was he that for a moment he only stood still. Hands, fingers as gentle and light as a bird's feathers, came to cradle his face, caress his cheeks and brush away his tears. There was love in her eyes.

"I'm sorry," he had meant to _say_ it, loud and clearly, but it simply hovered through the air as a whisper, "this pain I have brought upon myself- I never wanted you to carry it too, a burden you do not deserve…"

"O, beloved," Andreth, long-suffered and patient, answered. She still held his face in her hands. They shook. "Do you regret?" she hesitated, "ever loving me?"

He did not need to think of an answer. He did not hesitate: "Not even if the world was falling beneath my feet and the Valar's wrath trembled upon me. Not even if Ilúvatar forbid it or ever-lasting sorrow be my doom- I do not regret a single second I spent with you."

She had smiled, choked on her tears, and he fell to his knees; holding onto her waist so tightly in fear of losing her. In fear that she would crumble away, be blown away as dust. Time was frail- even in the Timeless Halls.

"How long have we waited?" he wept into her abdomen, "just for another goodbye." Her hands went through his hair, as they had often before, tangling in the gold and the silver. He looked up, their eyes meeting, and felt anger arise. Anger towards the Valar and the world that would separate their fates. But just as his life had, the anger was swiftly blown away, and he was left with nothing but sorrow. 

"I love you," he choked out, unable to restrain himself, "I always have. I always will."

She laughed, tears still in her eyes and on her face, but said nothing. There was nothing that needed to be said.

Then a loud bell rung through the halls and her eyes widened, a strange wind swept through her hair. He felt panic arise.

"Don't go," he begged, holding onto her even tighter, although she did not make the move to leave. She was weeping harder than she had before, her hands trembling in his hair, "please, _please_ don't go..." 

The bell rung again, louder this time, the wind growing bolder; rippling through her clothes. They had little time left if no time at all. His knuckles turned white as he clutched onto her gown, his face pressed against her stomach. 

"I can't stay," she said, her voice soft, "I can't Aegnor, you know I can't-" 

The bell rung a third time, it felt like there was a storm brewing around them. Whoever was calling was growing impatient. Her hands moved to hold his face again, so that their eyes met a final time, grey aligning with soft brown:

"Promise me you won't spend the rest of Time in grief," she said, "promise me that you'll be reborn, walk in the gardens of Lórien, return to your father in Valinor and walk beside him like you told me you used to in the elder days-"

He was shaking his head. He couldn't-

"- promise me, Aegnor, _promise me_."

He closed his eyes, knowing he couldn't while looking at her face, "I will."

Then the storm ceased, silence returned as if it had never left, and he held onto nothing but thin air. 

 

 

He would often find himself walking aimlessly through the halls again, looking at new tapestries. Finrod was still alive. He was aided by Barahir, who bore such an uncanny resemblance to Andreth that it hurt Aegnor to even look at his face. In return Finrod aided his son, and then his brother too was gone. Galadriel was left alone.

To no one's surprise the eldest son of Finarfin had quickly been pardoned, and Aegnor spoke to him only once. There was bitterness between them, their conversation had been foul, and they separated in bad terms.  

Beren had fallen in love with Lúthien, and yet their fates had been better than his. He had watched them come, then go, and return. They left the Halls together both times, and Aegnor felt like dying again.

Dior was their son's name. He had his father's smile, Barahir's, Bregor's and thus Andreth's. He wed Nimloth, loved her, and just like Andreth and Aegnor they were sundered. Aegnor comforted Nimloth only once as she wept in the Halls, after the loss of both her sons and husband, all three having followed the mysterious path of Men. 

Tuor married Idril. They had a son. They both sailed West. He was made immortal. Aegnor wanted to scream.

He felt like dying again, again and _again_.

Elrond and Elros were interesting. He watched them curiously on the tapestries. His cousins had spared them, and love had strangely grown. Many in the Halls were angered but Aegnor didn't care. He had long forgiven them- not having enough strength for hate, having wasted it all in sorrow. The twins too were sundered. Aegnor had smiled, for the first time in years, but not because of joy. Oh, how cruel the Valar were. Crueler than most people believed- and to think he used to worship them.

He would sometimes hear her voice, calling for him, echoing as softly as the wind. He'd run through the halls, screaming her name, searching for a soul that wasn't there. He would never find her, and would then weep again. He would also sometimes wait, wait and see whether Eru would open the Doors of Light for him to pass through. The doors Lúthien had boldly greeted. 

Maedhros came into the Halls many years later. Aegnor only saw a faint flash of red hair before his cousin had ran away, away from the snarling and staring crowd. He never saw Maedhros again.

Elros then came, with a  smile and no regret in his eyes; he had spoken to Fëanor and left through the Doors of Light. Many of Elros' descendants came after him, much sooner than Aegnor would have expected. Had mortal lives truly been so fleeting? Aegnor's time spent with Andreth had felt longer, and had yet ended far too soon.

He still liked to watch the tapestries. Finrod walked through Valinor with their father. He had a son now. Amarië and he had reunited, and Aegnor wondered if he had forgotten the years spent with Bëor.

Elrond wed Celebrían, his niece whom he had never met. _Don't do it_ , he had wanted to warn her, _man-blood runs through his veins_. 

He would often find himself standing before the Doors, but they never opened. Not for him. Námo pitied him, and would often try and pursue the son of Finarfin to accept the gift of life again and return to his father, to seek healing in the gardens of Lórien. He would always refuse, finding himself unable to. He wouldn't leave. Not without her.

But he had made a promise, and that was another burden to bear.

Aegnor wondered if she was happy, wherever she was. He would hope she was not suffering, suffering the same way he was.

Arwen Undómiel, she who was said bore the likeness of Lúthien, chose Aragorn and his fate. Aegnor wanted to weep for her, her father and her family, but had no tears left. She looked happy, even though there was sadness as well. At least he was worthy- Aragorn- and loved her too. 

A Fourth Age had now begun. Had it truly been so long? He had barely noticed the years pass by and had yet felt the weight of them altogether. The Halls were truly Timeless. 

There were barely any people left in the Halls, other than those who would swiftly come and go. He was one of the few  who had decided to stay. A new tapestry had appeared on the endless walls, of Galadriel and her golden hair, upon a ship sailing to the West. _Home_. Elrond was there too. He had left everything he loved behind.

Aegnor stared at their faces, joyous but grieving. _Promise me_.

He didn't want to leave, he never wanted to leave, but he had made a promise.

Námo came to him again a final time, clothed in white robes with a white hood, the shadows of it shielding his face. Aegnor knew what he came to ask for, and Aegnor already knew what his own answer would be.

"I'm ready," he wasn't really but said it anyways, not even waiting for the question; feeling something lift from his chest as the words slipped from his tongue.

He could hear her laughing, see her face in the back of his mind, her figure sprinting through green, grassy meadows; with the sun in her hair and light in the sweet, amber eyes. He did not have her with him, perhaps he never would, but the memories shared with her he had kept and would cherish. They would never be enough, he realised, but they were _there_ ; there to wash away his sorrows and ease the pain. Námo smiled at him, Aegnor could feel it even though he did not see it, "I wish to be reborn."

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!  
> I just watched E2 of S8 of Game of Thrones. The song 'Jenny of Oldstones' inspired me to write this. I think it was the sad tune of it that made me think of Andreth and Aegnor, but I hope you enjoyed this piece :)  
> I originally wanted this to be pure angst, but I couldn't do that to Aegnor :')  
> Also, sorry if the ending is rather abrupt. I wanted to get the feeling of how fleeting time is in the Halls. It isn't really a happy ending but better than what Tolkien had in mind.  
> -Feel free to correct any grammar mistakes :D! English is not my first or second langauge and I won't feel insulted but rather appreciate it.


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